


Remember My Name

by WarmaCrewe



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bodyswap, California, Cuban-American Lance (Voltron), Culture Shock, Domestic Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Homophobic Language, Keith and Shiro are Siblings, Korean-American Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, non-binary Pidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarmaCrewe/pseuds/WarmaCrewe
Summary: When Keith wakes up in Lance Sanchez's body, he thinks he's having an awful nightmare.When Lance wakes up as Keith Gyeong, it's the best dream he's ever had.But the more it keeps happening, the more it becomes clear to them that these aren't dreams at all.Inspired by the movie Kimi no na wa (Your Name). Updates once a week.





	1. Who are you?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mackerelmademedoit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackerelmademedoit/gifts), [aknightley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aknightley/gifts).



> For aknightley and mackerelmademedoit, who are the wind beneath my fanfiction wings. 
> 
> Special kudos to rybari for being my lovely beta, and heck if I think about it, dragging me down the Klance fanfic rabbit hole in the first place. Where would I be without you, weeb of my heart?

Keith rolled to the side of his mattress. The morning light was in his eyes – why was it so strong today? Still, his alarm wasn’t going off, so he must have more time…

“Lance! Lance wake up! You’re going to miss breakfast!” an unfamiliar voice called, tapping a door gently.

Lance?

Keith bolted upright on the bed, and it was then he noticed something was very wrong.

His legs – had they shrunken during his sleep? Why were they so skinny?? His hands flew up to his mouth unconsciously as he gasped at the sight. His arms - why were they that color brown? And they felt so weak. Had he gotten sick at night and lost weight? Maybe he had jaundice? Was he going to die?

Keith jumped up from the mattress, and it was then he took note that it was on the floor, not on his bed frame. What on earth...

“Lance!” the voice from before yelled again, this time louder. “Lance, get up before I drag you out of there, idiot!”

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye from a wide mirror on the wall and whirled around to face it. Oh, wait. That was him who had turned around, and he--

Keith could only gape at the reflection. His reflection. Only it wasn’t him he was staring at.

 

A tanned teenager looked back at him. His brown cropped hair curled lightly around the sides of his face. The boy’s skin was a creamy bronze and his eyes, though blue like Keith’s, were lighter, like the clearest ocean water. Faint freckles sprinkled his nose and the top of his high cheekbones. He was dressed in blue boxers decorated in cat face print, an oversize white t-shirt hanging off his lanky frame. He raised a thin hand up to his face and sure enough, the boy in the mirror duplicated his action. Keith pinched his cheek. Hard.

“Ehh?!” he cried aloud. Feeling an urgent need to escape the nightmare, he pawed at the sliding door of this bedroom, tugging it open before he flew down a long narrow hallway. He darted into what appeared to be a brightly-lit kitchen and almost collided with a diminutive person.

“There you are! It’s about time.” A tiny teenage girl with tan skin and shoulder-length hair scowled up at him. “Mamá wants you to help dress Lucas and braid Antonia’s hair.”

“Uh, um...” Keith stammered. Who was Lucas? Antonia? Who was this girl?

“ _Mijo_?” another voice called from around the corner. “Lancito!” and a middle aged woman waved him over to her with a wooden spoon. She wore her brown-black hair in a thick bun at the base of her neck, a flowery apron covering up a professional navy blue pantsuit ensemble. Like the teenage girl, she was petite, but her commanding presence more than made up for it. Not seeming to notice his frozen posture, she launched into a slew of what Keith was pretty sure was Spanish. She didn’t look directly at him as she talked, her attention focused on portioning out some kind of rice from a large pot into tupperware containers which were lined up next to several brown paper bags.

It wasn’t that Keith knew zero Spanish. He had taken four years of it in school so far. But there was a difference between being able to speak a limited number of phrases versus keeping up with a fully fluent individual whose mouth was running at approximately 200 miles per hour.

“S-sí,” Keith replied hesitantly. The woman paused, turning to stare at him with a raised eyebrow, but then continued her unending flow of speech. She pointed over to a cluttered worn kitchen table on the far side of the room. A plate of food was set in front of one of the chairs. “ _Come_ ,” she ordered. Well, Keith understood that much.

Not daring to disobey, he took a seat in front of the meal. He hadn’t had someone prepare him breakfast in years. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast were laid out on the plate next to a cup of what appeared to be coffee. Keith took a sip and was amazed to find it many times more potent than the drip coffee people normally served in their homes. It was tempered with a generous amount of milk, and even though Keith preferred tea he found it delicious. He took a bite of toast and eggs and discovered they were similarly tasty. Whatever weird dream he was having, at least the food was good. This was fortunate as he felt unusually hungry. He normally made do with just an apple in the morning, but for whatever reason he was ravenous. Keith made short work of the meal, scraping the last of the eggs into his mouth in time for the teenage girl to return, lightly swatting him on the back with a hairbrush.

Keith jerked away and glared, yanking the brush out of her hand. She looked startled at this action, frowning at him “Didn’t you hear what mamá said? We’re all going to be late! This ‘biorhythmic alarm’ of yours,” she said with an eyeroll, “obviously isn’t working. I did Antonia’s hair but Lucas needs to be ready in ten minutes or he’ll miss his ride with Katherine.” She pointed to a small child sitting on a couch in an adjacent room, watching cartoons on a huge flat screen TV.

Okay, this was probably Lucas. Keith gingerly approached him. As far as he could tell the kid was about four years old, with bowl-cut hair and blue eyes the same color as the boy whose body he had woken up in this morning. As he got closer the child turned his head and beamed at him, shouting “Lance! _¿Puedo--_ ” and then the Spanish started up again.

An idea popped into Keith’s head. “Hey Lucas, let’s practice our English today, okay?”

Lucas nodded at this happily. “Just like in school! Lance, can I watch more Paw Patrol? Pleeeeese?”

Keith shook his head side to side. “It’s time to get ready.” He paused, another plan coming to him. “How about you show me which clothes you want to wear today?”

“Yay!” the boy shouted, grabbing Keith’s hand and leading to back down the hallway to a bedroom.

It had been a while since Keith had been around small children, about five years to be precise. Still, it wasn’t much different from dealing with the foster siblings he’d lived with when he was younger. In fact it was better, as this kid was boundlessly cheerful and compliant with every one of Keith’s requests. In short order he had Lucas dressed, lunch bag in hand and ready to catch his carpool with a mom from his preschool.

He sighed as he closed the front door. A middle school aged girl sporting a long braid ran past him, almost colliding with Keith as she fidgeted with her dark hair. “Lance did you steal my brush?” Keith stared at her and gestured to the breakfast table, where he’d left the hairbrush he took away from the older teenage girl.

“Thanks,” she said, then halted and looked him over. “Are you going to school today in your pajamas? Isn’t Hunk--”

She was interrupted by a knock on the front door. Braid girl looked expectantly at Keith, who scurried over and opened it. An enormous young man was standing there. An orange bandana ran across his forehead but black bangs spilled out over it. He gawked at Keith. “Oh man, did you wake up on the wrong side of bed this morning? We gotta roll my dude.”

“Sorry!” Keith blurted. “Let me, um, let me get changed really quick.”

The burly teen was still staring in Keith as if in shock. “Bro you got five minutes or we’re late for homeroom,” he said, stepping inside. “Hey Antonia,” he said, grinning at the young girl.

“Hi Hunk!” she replied animatedly and the older boy bent down, exchanging small cheek kisses with the girl. “Bye Hunk!” she said brightly, grabbing the hairbrush from the kitchen table before running down the hallway.

Keith took that as his cue to sprint down the corridor himself, rushing back to the bedroom he’d woken up in. Clothes. He had to find clothes. He pulled open the drawers of a huge Ikea-style dresser, locating clean underwear, socks and a pair of jeans. From the looks of the teenager at the front door whatever school he attended didn’t have a uniform. He tugged open drawer after drawer, frowning when he only found pants. Where were the shirts? Keith circled around the room, finally opening a small door on one wall to reveal an immense closet, lined with more shirts and coats than Keith had probably ever owned in his life. He quickly grabbed a lightweight sweater and a jacket, throwing on the clothes. He yanked on a pair of sneakers by the mattress and grabbed a backpack off the chair, hurtling out of the room back to the front door.

“Ready,” he declared, facing “Hunk” as the fellow was leaning in the kitchen doorframe chatting amicably with the older teen girl from earlier that morning.

Hunk did a double-take, “Dude, so fast! That’s seriously got to be a Lance record.”

Keith was perplexed at that. He took way longer to dress this morning than he usually did since he didn’t know where to find anything. “Um, okay. Well, I’m ready now.”

“Great, let’s go!” Hunk said, turning back to the front entrance. “Bye Christina, Mrs. Sanchez!”

“Bye Hunk!” a duo of voices called.

Keith tried to follow the teen out the door before a person behind him cried out “Wait, Lance!”

Keith whirled around, having at last registered that in this dream his name was Lance. The teenage girl hastily shoved a paper bag at him. “Your lunch!” she exclaimed, and then tilted her head upwards at him and gave him two quick pecks on the cheek. Keith stiffened and turned red, feeling confused beyond measure. “Uh…” his voice wobbled.

The girl huffed at him. “What is _with_ you today?” Keith had no idea how to reply to that. What _wasn’t_ wrong with today? He made to leave again, calling out “Bye!”, one hand on the doorknob.

“Lancito!” he recognized the sound of the middle aged woman from the kitchen. She strode into the hallway and grabbed his face, pulling Keith into another round of cheek kisses. This time Keith sort of reciprocated, getting in one peck at the end. The woman patted him on the back and spoke an incomprehensible string of Spanish at Keith. He nodded rigidly. “Adiós” he said with a wave and finally made his exit. _Nailed it, Gyeong._

Hunk was waiting for him in a beat up yellow car parked in the driveway, engine already on. Keith opened the passenger side and climbed in. The other teen wasted no time putting the car into gear and pulling out into the street. Keith buckled his seatbelt and peeked at Hunk nervously.

Hunk glanced over at him and smiled wryly. “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

 _Oh, how wrong you are,_ Keith thought. Because today was shaping up to be unlike any day he’d experienced in his life.

  
****

 

“You look better this morning,” his mother told him as he wolfed down his breakfast with big gulps of coffee.

Lance raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her, befuddled. “Huh? Was I not okay yesterday?”

Christina snorted beside him, “Are you kidding? You were like a different person. Lance, you didn’t even _wash_ your face before you went to school. You threw on some clothes and in two minutes you went from pajamas to walking out the door.”

He almost spit out his toast. “What? Christina, you must not have been watching me.”

Lance’s mother chuckled, “Your sister is right, son. We all saw how out of sorts you were yesterday. Antonia practically had to remind you to get dressed. And then you went out in such heavy clothes! Don’t you remember coming home soaking with sweat?”

Christina wrinkled her nose “You smelled awful. I think you forgot to use deodorant.”

Lance sniffed his armpits. Wait a second, they were right, he didn’t smell normal! A little bit like body odor, but, as he touched his face, his skin felt stiff and dry, like he hadn’t used his bedtime lotion at all.

“Whoa,” he said, blinking, “No way! I must have been sick or something.”

“Well if you can’t even remember doing this, that seems to be a fair assumption. You locked yourself in your room after you came home, so you must have been unwell,” his mother said reasonably. “You seem to be back to yourself today, though, so I guess it’s nothing to see the doctor about.”

Lance chomped on a piece of bacon. “Yeah I feel fine,” he said, mouth half full. He swallowed. “Like just any other ordinary day.”

 

“Say what?!” Lance exclaimed at Hunk, not believing his ears.

“Yeah man, you straight up forgot your last name,” Hunk said looking forward at the dirt road, hands on the steering wheel.

“Dude,” Lance said, shaking his head, “dude I seriously do not remember _a thing_.”

“You looked like you were walking on eggshells all day. Like Cynthia put a hand on your shoulder and you flinched,” Hunk said, emphasizing the last word.

“Flinched? Shit I should have been praising the skies such an angel blessed me with her touch!” Lance shrieked.

“I know, I know! You were like a man possessed. You didn’t do your hair or speak a word in class. It was legit freaky,” Hunk said. His expression turned to that of genuine concern. “You saying you don’t remember makes it even more weird. I hope you don’t have a brain tumor or something.”

“Hunk, why would you even say that?? What the heck, dude!”

“Sorry! I’m sorry it was just so bizarre -”

“Let’s just,” Lance sighed, “put that whole day behind us. If it happens again, though, I want you to sedate me with one of those tranquilizer darts and keep me at home if I try to leave the house without product.”

Hunk chuckled, pulling into the school’s parking lot, “Will do, buddy.”

And sure enough, Lance got a couple of peculiar looks that day. Mrs. Parker pulled him aside before Lit to ask if he was feeling okay, having been worried by his performance in yesterday’s class. He explained that he had been a little sick, but was better now. To his relief, she let him retake the quiz from yesterday, which was a breeze for Lance, although apparently he had bombed it the day before. He felt grateful that his teachers cared enough to make those kind of concessions for him, but Lance wasn’t a top student for nothing. People were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Heck, even if he had pulled out the “dog ate my homework” excuse, Mrs. Parker and Mr. Mancini would probably buy it.

  
  
He had been repeating the tale so often that Lance even believed it himself. He’d been sick yesterday, maybe with the flu or a cold, and hadn’t been feeling like his usual self. The story got bigger as the day went on - he had a fever that morning but ignored it, a pervasive headache that wouldn’t quit even after medicine, his throat had been sore so he didn’t talk a lot. They weren’t _really_ lies, because it was the most plausible explanation, right? If an entire day has been erased from your memory, a day in which you were apparently completely out of your mind, sickness had to be the answer.

Lance had so thoroughly accepted this fictional account of the matter that it came as a complete shock when, during Calculus, he turned to his most recent notes to see the following words scrawled in huge capital letters underneath the _Definition of a Limit_ :

**WHO ARE YOU?**

And no matter how much he wanted to convince himself that the previous day’s events had all been part of some random illness, one thing remained absolutely clear.

Those words were not written in his handwriting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> mijo - son  
> sí - yes  
> come - eat! (command form)  
> ¿Puedo - Can I--?


	2. My Name Is Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like you to remember that this is LANCE, okay. Really, what did you expect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Note: Any lengthy Spanish phrases will appear in English, underlined and in italics. Example: The teacher might say “Siéntense, por favor”, but most of the classroom dialogue will appear as, “Everyone sit down, please,”(English translation) just underlined and in italics.
> 
> This is because I think it’s tiresome to have a slew of explanatory remarks at at the bottom of the fic. A word here and there is fine, but multiple sentences? I find it disruptive to the flow of the story.
> 
> Enjoy!

There was some kind of traffic going on outside his window. That was the first thing Lance noticed when an unfamiliar alarm started blaring in his ear. 

Who had set an alarm? Was Christina playing a prank on him again? Regardless, Lance reached for the direction of the noise - a phone lying on a nightstand, it turned out - and smacked it. That seemed to do the trick. Given how dark it was, surely it was not time to be awake, was it? Lance fumbled again for the cell and peered at it through his half-shut eyes. It was the newest iPhone. Who in his household had a model as fancy as this? Pushing the thought aside from his sleep-addled brain, he checked the time. 7am??? Shit, he was going to be late at this rate! Lance bolted up in his bed. Wait… what was this?

He was in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed. This was definitely not his house, and whoever’s school uniform was hanging on the handle of the door wasn’t his either. But Espalda didn’t have any private schools.

Where the hell was he? Lance finally jumped off the bed onto his feet, and noticed something was very different. He caught sight of his arms. His skin- his skin was so pale! Was he sick? He felt up his arms and then another thing caught his attention. His arms were really well muscled, as were his legs.  _ Whoa… how did I get so buff? _ Was he puffy from some food or drink he consumed? But he didn’t feel ill at all. In fact, he felt better than he had in years. Lance lifted the edge of the red shirt he had been sleeping in. Oh my god… he had abs! Really nice ones. His hand grazed his firm abdomen before he brought it to his bicep, giving it a squeeze. Niiiiice. Lance’s eyes darted up and he searched for a mirror. None in the room itself, but was that an  _ attached bathroom?  _ SWEET! Lance darted to the restroom and sure enough there was a mirror, and sure enough…

The face that stared back at him was not his own. Lance’s jaw dropped.

Somehow he was having an  _ amazing _ dream of living in a swanky place as an incredibly hot guy. Lance reached up to touch a finger to the corner of his eyes. He looked Asian, though Lance didn’t know enough to guess the exact heritage, with porcelain skin only marred by a healing cut on his hairline. Inky black hair fell around his forehead, longer in the back. A mullet?? Was he in the past? No, the phone was definitely cutting edge. Impossibly, the dude made the retro look work for him. 

Holy shit. Holy shit this was wonderful! 

Lance closed his eyes and listened closely to the buzz of nearby cars. He put two and two together and went back into the bedroom, pulling aside the curtains of the window by the bed to look outside. 

Skyscrapers loomed around him, with the ocean visible on the edge of the horizon. Oh god. Oh god he was in a high rise. In  _ San Francisco! _

Lance grinned widely. This was shaping up to be the best dream ever.

A notification popped up on the cellphone.  **School: 8am** . He’d better get going in that case. Lance scrambled around the apartment, looking for someone who might be able to give him some assistance. No one. The place was completely empty except for him. That was okay, Lance was creative. Heading back to the bedroom he spied a backpack on a chair in front of a immaculately organized desk. He unzipped the front, and there was a wallet inside. He rifled through it, finding a driver’s license and school ID. Both of them had similar information: Keith Gyeong, 17, Senior at Fort Mason Preparatory High School. He plugged directions for the school into Keith’s phone, unlocking it with his index finger. Crap, it was a 35 minute walk! He snatched up the collared shirt and slacks hanging ready on the hanger, eyes then landing on a small dresser. He grabbed the rest of his clothes from the drawers and got dressed in record time. 

Lance hurried to the bathroom. Where was the face wash? He opened and closed the drawers on the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling back the shower curtain. Bar soap? Was that all Keith had? But he didn’t have time to waste. With a heavy heart he scrubbed his face as well as he could. He grabbed a tiny hotel size lotion out of the bottom drawer, rubbing it in delicately. After brushing his teeth he attempted to tend to his hair. Of course there was no product for that either. Lance located a comb, yes, not even a brush, a  _ comb _ by the sink and fixed his hair the best that he was able, putting some water and patting down a few cowlicks in the back of his scalp. Actually, Lance had to admit that he didn’t need to do much to look amazing. He sighed. Some people, man.

Exiting the washroom he grabbed his backpack, phone, and a set of keys from on top of the dresser. He checked the time versus the walking route. If he jogged, he’d just about make it. Lance cracked his neck and took a deep breath.  _ Alright, Keith Gyeong, you rich pretty boy. Let’s see how you live. _

 

Despite the fact that he had no clue where he was going, the way to Keith’s school was pleasantly simple, mostly a straight shot down a couple of streets. Lance longed to take in the scenery around him, but he was curious to see how the daily life of a San Francisco kid would be. Arriving at Fort Mason Prep at last, he circled around the edifice twice before finding the entrance in the back. It looked like an old-fashioned school to Lance, the kind where there were no yards connecting classrooms, everything in one big concrete multi-story building. His phone kept buzzing all the time with instructions.  **First Period - English: Room 107, Mr. Hanson.** No homeroom? Okay, fine. He had five minutes to spare to find Room 107, and although the walls were lined with lockers, he had no idea which was Keith’s. He sighed. Guess he had no choice but to haul his heavy bag around all day. 

Finding Room 107 just in time, he entered it to discover most students were already seated. A few of them briefly glanced at Lance before quickly looking away. He stood in the doorway, uncertain. Were there assigned seats? There were still five chairs open. He picked one in the back of the class, slouching down behind the attached table. Just as the teacher sitting at the front desk got up to close the door a couple of boys darted in, breathless. One of them approached him before stopping a few feet from Lance, eyeing him tentatively. 

“Is this your--” Lance began, but the student abruptly moved away, taking a seat on the other side of the room. Well that was weird - what was that kid’s problem? Lance didn’t have time to think about it before the teacher, Mr. Hanson, he supposed, cleared his throat and stood up, beginning the lesson. 

The lecture seemed to go on forever, and as Lance looked up at the clock he found that this was true for more than one class - they were split up into 90 minute blocks. How tedious. After second period he stood up and bent down to touch his toes. Wow, that was hard! His legs were either really long or this guy was totally inflexible. As students floated into the classroom Lance got up and exited. There was another kid who looked about ten years old in front of him carrying a backpack almost twice their size.

“I got it,” Lance said, grabbing the door for the short boy. To Lance’s confusion, they just stared up at him, waiting. “Uh… you first?” Lance faltered, growing more puzzled by the moment as he held open the door. Was there something on his face? Why weren’t they moving?

“T-thank you!” the student said rapidly and bolted through the entranceway, almost running down the hallway away from Lance.

Lance blinked, confounded. What was that about?

As the day went on, he discovered this was a pattern of people’s reactions to Keith. The students all gave him a wide berth, a good foot of room surrounding him on every side no matter how crowded the space was. Nobody spoke to him either beyond what was absolutely necessary in the course of the class. Although ordinarily Lance enthusiastically participated in discussions, he had to stay mostly silent due to having no clue what was going on in most of Keith’s lessons. Even though they both took mostly the same subjects, Keith was in Calculus BC instead of AB like Lance, and all the material flew right over his head. They were studying different periods in History, different books in English. To his befuddlement, no one seemed to expect him to speak. The teachers didn’t even call on him. He did receive back a couple of graded assignments and a test, and was impressed to see that they were all perfect scores. Maybe that’s why the teachers didn’t question his silence, since he was such a good student. 

To Lance’s relief all of Keith’s completed homework was ready in his backpack. He carefully took notes all day, going into far more detail than he otherwise would. It seemed like the least he could do since he would almost certainly not be able to successfully finish the homework due for tomorrow. 

On one hand, it was nice to have the clear regard of everyone around him. Keith was handsome, studious and no one dared mess with him. This was in stark contrast to Lance’s own life, where he didn’t go a day without being harassed in some small way. But notwithstanding the peaceful nature of Keith’s existence, Lance found that he didn’t envy him as much as he would expect. Because despite everything he had, there was one thing that left him wanting. 

It was lonely.

All day, not a single friend had approached him. It was a good thing that Keith had meticulously entered his school schedule into his phone, because there was no one to guide Lance had he been lost. No one had asked him if something was wrong, no one had commented that Lance looked uncertain or self conscious. He bought lunch and though he stood several minutes in the cafeteria looking around, no one seemed to expect him at any table, so he ate alone. When he met the eyes of some students they immediately flashed away, appearing almost fearful. What had this kid done to isolate himself so thoroughly? Lance knew that he himself would be intimidated by someone like Keith, probably put him on a pedestal, considering him untouchable. Yet he had always thought deep down that people weren’t really like that, no one was perfect, everyone had flaws. But maybe Keith didn’t? Or maybe that’s the image he had cultivated.

At 2:00pm Lance checked his phone.  **Fourth Period - Spanish Language and Literature, Room 220, Ms. Allura** .

_ Alright!  _ After drudging through lessons where he was totally lost, now was Lance’s time to shine. Grinning to himself he headed for the stairs to the second floor, taking them two at a time in his excitement. Sure, this was probably another advanced class, but how advanced could it really be for someone for whom Spanish was arguably a first language? His mother had always insisted he and his siblings keep fully fluent, speaking it to them at home and buying them Spanish books for their birthdays. He might finally be able to engage in conversation. After an entire day of being an outsider Lance was bursting at the seams - he’d never been so meek in his entire life. Not for this class, oh ho ho. 

He entered the classroom and took a look around at his fellow students, recognizing a few from classes before. Lance only saw a couple of people who might be Latino, but like the rest of the school it was overwhelmingly full of white kids.  _ You guys are going  _ down.

He took his seat, feeling smug as he located the textbook in his bag. On the chalkboard was written the agenda for today:  **El subjuntivo** . Wait, what the heck was the subjuntivo? Having a couple of minutes to spare, he turned to the pages marked in his textbook. Skimming it over he recognized the forms and understood what was going on. Lance crackled his knuckles and wiggled his fingers in the air with anticipation, bouncing his foot on the floor.  _ Bring. It. ON. _

Lance was in the middle of completing the exercise for the day when a beautiful woman walked into the classroom.  _ WOW _ . Lance gasped, temporarily stunned by the creature in front of him. 

“ _ Siéntense, por favor, _ ” the instructor requested in a melodious voice. Lance could make out her Mexican accent, but that could just be where she studied. He couldn’t place her features in any ethnicity - her skin was clear brown, her nose and chin sharp and regal. She didn’t look very old to Lance, probably early twenties, but her hair was a shocking white that she styled in a high bun at the crown of her head. She wore a silky off-white button up shirt tucked into a pencil skirt, and god bless that skirt because it was just the right height to put her shapely calves on display for Lance to ogle. 

_ Don’t hit on the teacher, Lance. Don’t hit on the teacher, Lance. Come on Lance you can do this, don’t-- _

“ _ Whatever you say, señorita _ _ ,”  _ Lance purred at her in his most seductive tone. She appeared not to hear, or at least if she did she didn’t react. Lance swallowed. Well, that was probably for the best.

As Ms. Allura spoke, Lance made out between the heavy Mexican dialect a British tinge. He ventured a guess that she was English and had studied in Mexico. She wrote basic, incredibly boring information about the subjunctive on the board before turning back to face the class. 

“ _ Please turn to page 42. Now, who would like to begin by reading the paragraph, filling in the blanks with the correct subjunctive verbs? You may ask for help from the class if needed.” _

Lance’s hand shot up into the air, beaming. Ms. Allura instantly laid eyes on him and though she looked a little taken aback, she also smiled. “ _ Yes, Keith, please begin. _ ”

He cleared his throat, unable to hide a smirk from his face. Lance rattled off the paragraph like it was nothing, and then decided he was gonna go the distance and did the second paragraph as well. He would have gone on but the teacher stopped him.

“ _ Well done, Keith! That was completely correct! And your pronunciation has drastically improved. Have you been watching movies in Spanish? _ ”

_ “Yes, I have, _ ” Lance replied. Hey, it was the truth, wasn’t it? Just a couple of days ago as a matter of fact. No one in the class needed to know that “Y Tu Mamá También” was basically porn. 

“ _ Excellent! That’s the best way to learn. I recommend to the rest of you to follow Keith’s example. Who would like to go next? _ ”

“Fucking Keith,” Lance heard someone murmur behind him.  _ Haha. Suck it, bitches _ .  

The rest of the students tripped over the verbs for the remainder of the lesson, with the exception of Lance, of course. He raised his hand every time Ms. Allura asked a question, and though she didn’t always call on him he could tell that she was growing more and more impressed. He swelled with pride. Even though he really shouldn’t take credit for getting everything right, being a native speaker, he loved the attention. The grumbling of the kids behind him just made it all the sweeter. As the end of class bell rung, Lance wasn’t entirely surprised when the instructor waved him over to her desk.

“ _ Keith? Would you stay after class a minute? _ ” Ms. Allura asked him.

Lance grinned, sidling up to her table. “ _ Of course. What’s shaking? _ ”

Allura raised an eyebrow at this but then returned his smile. “ _ Keith, I noticed at the beginning of the year, but today really cements it: you’re too advanced. I think you should consider AP Spanish. If you stay here you won’t have much to gain. _ ”

At the moment Lance had already been feeling like he’d do anything for this exquisite creature, but this was even better. Lance was a consummate show-off, and her suggestion just further stroked his ego.

“ _ I’d absolutely love to, _ ” he said with a wink.

 

  
  
That was the last lesson of the day, and after school ended Lance took his time walking home, exploring the city. Keith’s private school was near a marina, and he relished the sea breeze. Lance couldn’t catch a ball to save his life, but he was like a fish in the water and had always dreamed of living by the ocean. He hadn’t dressed warmly enough however, neglecting to bring a jacket as the chilly weather caught him off guard. Even though this was August it couldn’t be more than 60 degrees out. At about 5pm heavy fog rolled in and he found himself shivering. Although he ducked into a cafe to get a snack and some coffee, it was still too cold for Lance to continue to stay out on the streets. But he had completely forgotten where Keith lived. Lance pulled his wallet out of his pocket and checked Keith’s driver’s license again. An address he hoped was still current was printed on it, and he plugged it into Keith’s GPS, carefully following the walking directions back to his apartment. The building looked familiar enough that Lance was pretty sure it was the same from this morning. A tired looking lobby attendant opened the brass door for him as he approached, taking him by surprise. Wow this was fancy - couldn’t he open a door for himself? “Uh, thank you,” he muttered uncomfortably to them before walking up to the elevator and pressing the Up button. 

Lance felt a little uneasy with all this luxury as the elevator smoothly passed floor after floor. Keith’s apartment number was 23B, and thankfully it was on the 23rd level like Lance had guessed. That was just one tier from the top! He fumbled with the keys, eventually unlocking the door and stepped into the apartment he’d woken up in.

It was darker than that morning, so he flipped a switch by entrance, recessed lights turning on through the kitchen and living room. It was completely quiet, just like earlier in the day. “Hello?” Lance called. No answer. Unhurried by needing to get to school this time, he dropped his backpack and poked around. No TV. There was one large family room with a couple of comfortable looking couches and an ironing board standing by floor to ceiling windows. Lance strode over to admire the view again. Beautiful. Through the fog he could just make out the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance on the left, and to the right a soaring smooth white tower loomed nearby on a green hill.

He smiled. It must be nice to come home to this every day. He turned on another set of lights and walked down hallway to his left, opening the doors. There was the bedroom he’d woken up in and an office next to it. On the opposite side of the hallway was a larger master bedroom with a king bed, again sporting an attached bathroom with a huge tub and shower. A simple washroom containing only a toilet and sink was by the entrance to the hallway. Wow. Two and a half bathrooms for what looked like a maximum of three people. This was insane.

Wandering back into the fully stocked kitchen, expensive looking pans hanging from a rack on the ceiling, he noticed a small pile of unopened mail on the granite island countertop. He perused the letters - they were all addressed to someone named “Takashi Shirogane.” Was that one of the people that lived with Keith? Lance couldn’t place Gyeong, outside of the fact that it sounded vaguely Asian, but the weeaboo in him recognized the Japanese in the other person’s name. Maybe Keith was Japanese too. Maybe he could watch anime without subtitles.  _ So cool _ . Lance scowled, feeling envious yet again of Keith’s advantages. Was there anything this guy didn’t have?

Lance sighed, pulling textbooks and notebooks out of his bag, his studious side kicking in. He wouldn’t be able to do much, but he could at least try to have a go at Keith’s homework. Academics came before anything else in the Sanchez household, even family events on occasion, and it was already later than he normally started his homework. He began with Calculus.

Or at least, he tried to start on Calculus before he slammed the textbook shut with a groan. There was no way he could do this. Integrals? What the heck? Lance decided this was pointless. He was in a dream! He was in a marvelous dream of having a perfect life and was he going to spend it on homework? Screw that. Lance had better ideas. Taking his cell out of his pocket, he launched the phone’s browser.

**“Gay bars in San Francisco”** Lance typed into the search engine. A map popped up, and clicking it Lance saw that although there were several all over the city there were a bunch clustered in one area of town. He decided to head in that direction. It was too far to walk, but there was money in Keith’s wallet and he figured he was competent enough to take the bus system, which appeared to be extensive. If he missed one, there were plenty of other buses to catch.

Thusly determined, Lance opened Keith’s closet, hoping to find something provocative to wear. He was disappointed to find that all Keith had hanging up were extra school uniforms, a few jackets and one boring looking white collared shirt. This wouldn’t do at all. He turned to Keith’s dresser, hunting through the drawers. Ninety percent of the garments inside were black. Well, that was okay, black was sexy. His clothes fit pretty tight as well, and Lance took his sweet time admiring Keith’s ass in a pair of dark grey skinny jeans. If Lance met him in a bar, he would definitely hit Keith up. Not that this was his goal for tonight. Lance just wanted to see what was out there, he didn’t intend to go home with anybody or get wasted. In fact, a quick check through Keith’s wallet revealed that he didn’t even have a fake ID. But this evening was about exploration. Lance added a well-worn red leather jacket to complete his look and made finger guns at himself in the mirror. Time to party.

He only took the F bus in the wrong direction for one stop, but all in all Lance felt proud of himself for how well he was getting the hang of the city. About 45 minutes after he left the apartment Lance found himself standing in front of his very first officially gay bar. He only trembled a little as he stood outside of the entrance, people pushing past him. He wasn’t fully out back at home, but he had heard you didn’t even need to be homosexual to go to one of the bars, right?  _ This is a dream. This is a dream and you’re on a dream tour of the gay life. Get going, Lance, and let your bisexual flag fly! _ Steadying himself, Lance prepared to walk through the door.

“ID, please,” a thickset man requested in a gruff voice, sitting on a stool and holding his hand out at Lance.

Oh. Well maybe he’d let his bi flag fly at a different bar.

In fact Lance ended up being turned away from five establishments automatically before he found one that didn’t card at the door. Slinking inside, he was disappointed to find the place mostly empty. He checked his watch - 7pm, wasn’t that late enough for people to be going out? Or maybe it was too late? After all this was a Thursday. Still, there were a few people perched at the bar, though they were mostly talking with each other and didn’t so much as spare a glance for Lance. He ordered a soda and fortunately the bartender accepted his order without kicking him out, which Lance counted as a win. He was in. Time for action. Lance spied an attractive looking young man on the far edge of the counter, sitting by himself and sipping on something. Bam.  _ Get it, Lance. _

“Hey there. What’s a pretty guy like you doing here on your own?” he said, giving the man some clear elevator eyes.

To his complete and utter humiliation, his target merely cocked his head at Lance, gave him an appraising stare, and burst out laughing.

“Isn’t it a little past your bedtime, kiddo?”

Lance straightened his shoulders, rising to the bait, “Hell no, I’m here to party all night!”

That just made things worse, the man now snickering even louder, “Yeah, I bet you are,” he look a long drink. “Sorry kid, I don’t feel like going to jail tonight.”

“Oh come on! Weren’t you my age once?” he was floundering now, but Lance wasn’t quite ready to give up.

“Yeah, I was,” the man said, his snicker disappearing into a warmer smile. “And I made a lot of bad decisions.” His look turned serious, “Unless you’re a plant, which I don’t think you are, you shouldn’t be here. You’re just going to attract scumbags looking to take advantage of you.”

“Hey, I’m good at looking out for myself!” Lance defended.

“Oh really? Is that why you left your drink over there,” the man nodded to Lance’s right, “and haven’t been watching it?”

He felt his blood run cold, whipping his head around to see his drink a couple of seats away from him. The stranger was right - anything could have happened to it.

“Don’t leave your drink unattended, ever. This may seem like a game to you, but I know people who have been dosed,” the man continued, brow furrowed, concerned. “In fact, don’t come out to a bar without some friends to watch over you.”

Lance deflated, his bravado completely gone. He sighed. “I just wanted to have a good time. I’m from a small town, man, we don’t have anything like this around. I just thought I could, maybe just for one night -”

“Be yourself?” the older guy finished for him, the smile returning. “We’ve all been there kid. I’m from Missouri,” he patted Lance’s shoulder, “I get it. But you’ve got plenty of time to party in your life. Just be safe.”

Great, his night out was turning into a paternal lecture. Okay, maybe he needed that. Suddenly the lights in the bar changed, a strobe lighting up in a room adjacent to the bar. A familiar pop song started playing, and Lance decided to take a chance. “Hey,” he said with a smile, inclining his head to the dance floor, “come dance with me. Just one song. And then I’ll go home, I promise.”

The man looked skeptical but then chuckled, “You really don’t give up, do you?”

Lance grinned, “Nope. But you showed me that there are good people in this city, and I appreciate that. Show me now how to have safe fun before I go back to school like a responsible child.”

The man shook his head, but smiled back at Lance, “Just one,” he said, taking Lance’s hand. “And in case you are a plant, let me just say right now that I don’t have, nor ever had any intention of taking you home.”

“I know you wouldn’t. And that’s why I know I didn’t make a mistake at all picking you to talk to out of the people here tonight. Now,” Lance said, pulling his to the flashing colored lights, “let’s see if you can move.”

  
  
  
Lance took an Uber for the first time in his life back from the club. It seemed extravagant, but this was a dream, so why not? It wasn’t like Lance was paying for it. Back at Keith’s posh building he was glad to see the lobby attendant was absent from their desk, so Lance let himself in, with some fumbling, by using an electronic fob to open the front door. He felt a sense of relief as he took the elevator back to Keith’s floor, surprising him. Guess going out made him more tense than he had expected. Arriving at last, Lance closed the apartment door behind him loudly. “I’m home!” he called. 

Yet there was no answer, same as before. He sighed. Maybe whoever Keith lived with just got in really late? But there was something sad to Lance about the fact that he’d been out on a school night, possibly putting himself into danger, and there was no one there to miss him when he was gone. No one had called or texted him asking how his day had been. He sat down on one of the plush leather sofas, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket. He would just wait until Keith’s family got home before heading to bed.

But that time never came. Nine turned into ten turned into eleven. Lance grew hungry, raiding the fridge for leftovers of some sort of spicy noodles. It was hot enough that he’d have liked milk to go along with it, but there wasn’t any in the kitchen. There was also no junk food of any kind in the entire apartment, not even a clandestine candy bar stowed in the desk in Keith’s bedroom. This annoyed the sugar addict in Lance along with something deeper. Didn’t Keith know how to live at all?

Finally at midnight Lance grew too sleepy to stay up any longer waiting for whoever lived with Keith to turn up. Changing into the same red t-shirt and soft plaid shorts he’d risen in, Lance grabbed the laptop from the desk and opened up it up, launching a web browser. Keith had a few tabs going, one for Wikileaks, a site called Stackexchange and San Francisco Tae Kwon Do Club. Lance closed them and went to his favorite streaming page to complete his nightly routine of watching Adventure Time reruns. But after only a few minutes of the episode he was yawning and closed the computer, pushing it onto a small table by the bed.

Lance found himself smiling. Keith’s life may be solitary, but it had been quite the adventure. If he himself had the opportunity to live here, things would be different. Lance would make friends and go out exploring with them every day. He’d find out where all the cafes and bookstores were around this building and frequent them, digging out haunts and getting to know the local shop owners. He’d kill it at that nerdy school of his, he’d join clubs, he’d fight Keith for top of the class. He might be antisocial, but Lance would make Keith remember him.

Then he had an idea. Sitting up one last time that night, he reached over to Keith’s desk and pulled open a drawer.  
  


 

******

 

Keith awoke with a groan to the sound of his alarm. He’d had the most dreadful dream. So much Spanish - everyone expected him to know Spanish! He’d heard that dreaming in a foreign language was a sign of developing fluency, but it sure hadn’t felt that way to Keith. More like the most nerve-wrecking day of his life. Keith sat up and looked at his arms. Normal. He shook his head at himself. Why would he have thought he’d look any different? The dream had been incredibly realistic, but that’s all it had been - a dream. He ran a distressed hand through his hair, and something caught his eye. Keith gasped. 

On the palm of his hand, a single word was written in permanent marker.

**LANCE**

_ Lance? LANCE! _ The dream! In the dream, his name had been Lance. He saw a black Sharpie lying on his nightstand and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He must have drawn the name on himself in his sleep. Yes. That’s what had to have happened.

Keith shuddered.  _ Just a dream. It was just a dream _ .

  
  


Fortunately, the rest of the day seemed to go smoothly. His notes from yesterday looked a little jumbled, but nothing too out of the ordinary. He shrugged off the morning’s events. Or at least he had done until he got to fourth period.

“Keith!” Ms. Allura said before the lesson began. “ _ I’ve got great news! _ ”

Keith paused in the middle of setting down his backpack, confused. “Huh?” he said.

Ms. Allura was beaming at him. “ _ Your schedule change was approved, so starting tomorrow you can join the AP Spanish class on block 3. The office switched out your Tech Ed class, which you’ll take in block 5 from now on. _ ”

What was she talking about? Schedule change? He must have misunderstood the Spanish she was speaking. “Um, could you repeat that in English, please?”

She blinked at him. “Remember from yesterday? You agreed that you were going to move to the AP Spanish class.” Her expression changed to one of confusion, brows knitting. “Did you change your mind about taking the class?”

“Uh…” he faltered and looked at the ground, unsure of what to say to his apparent insanity from the day before.

Keith was so angry at himself. What had gone through his head yesterday? The dream nagged at him from the corner of his mind. That feeling of being out of place, not knowing how to communicate. It had been maddening. Yet Spanish was supposed to be his easy class - he was already taking three APs, he didn’t need a fourth. But then he glanced back up at Ms. Allura’s face, seeing the disappointment there.

Keith felt something in himself resolve.  _ You know what? FUCK IT. _ This was another challenge. If Keith’s own brain was going to betray him, he’d put up both fists. He never backed down from a fight. 

Keith met Ms. Allura’s disheartened gaze with a glare.

“ _ Of course I remember. I’ll see you tomorrow at first period. _ ”

She beamed at him, nodding, and Keith took his seat in time for her to call class to order. He groaned and dropped in head onto his crossed arms on the desk. He opened his hand, and read again the faint word written on his palm, still visible after all the scrubbing from that morning.

_ Who are you, Lance? And what did you do? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a Keith fangirl no why do you ask


End file.
